


when i'm coming home

by Origamidragons



Category: One Piece
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Found Family, Gen, Homecoming, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28472766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Origamidragons/pseuds/Origamidragons
Summary: Zoro comes back after Kuraigana, and Law comes back after Dressrosa, and Sanji comes back after Whole Cake Island.It's good to be home.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 92
Collections: Sake Ceremony 2021





	1. zoro

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fireflywitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflywitch/gifts).



> happy new years, firefly!! here's to a better one in 2021. i couldn't decide which of your prompts to write, so i did, um, all of them. (well, three out of four.) hope you enjoy!!

Zoro used to think he was immune to homesickness. 

After all, he spent months and years wandering around East Blue, mostly on his own, sleeping rough wherever he could find the space, and barely ever even spared a thought for the dojo left behind in Shimotsuki. When he did, it was for the memories, the times already gone and not worth dwelling over; swords flashing in moonlight, triumphant smiles and vows of again and again and _again_ -

And even then, he never lingered long. There was no point in it, was there? 

But he’d never really pined for the place, nor the people still left living there, and he’d assumed that that was because it just wasn’t in his nature. That he just wasn’t the sort to miss homes left behind. 

He didn’t realize until he found his crew and then lost them again, far too sudden and far too soon, that it was because he’d never really had a home to miss. 

_You’re no fun when you’re all gloomy_ , Perona would say, pulling a face, her bright red boots dangling over the edge of the castle battlements. _Wanna talk about it?_

Zoro would frown, run the oilcloth along Wado’s blade, the sound of it whisper-soft in the nighttime quiet. Perona was annoying, sometimes, but she wasn’t bad company, and more often than not her loudness and brightness reminded him of the people he missed. 

Sooner or later, he’d always tell her. Little things, not the memories closest to his heart but the ones that brought a smile to his face: about how they had to keep replacing the lock on the fridge with steadily sturdier ones to keep Luffy out; how Robin liked to stay up at night and watch the sky, how she’d wake the whole crew for auroras and meteor showers; how Usopp always wound up looking like he’d stuck his fingers in an electrical outlet after working on Nami’s clima-tact, and how the way she beamed every time made it worth it anyways.

Perona always wound up laughing, and so did he. He’ll probably never admit it aloud, but he owes her something for that- for forcing him not to wallow in silence, for giving him a reason to remember why he was doing this in the first place. 

But he still _missed_ his crew, somewhere deep and aching in his chest, and sometimes dredging the memories back up hurt just as much as it helped. He didn’t mind. If you ask him, memories are like blades- better to keep the edges sharp than to let them blunt and rust, even if that means cutting himself from time to time.

(He can’t quite remember Kuina’s face, anymore.)

So-

It feels good, to come home. 

The Thousand Sunny is deep beneath the surface of the ocean, dark water all around them, deep enough that not even the faintest glint of sunlight can reach- but it doesn’t matter, does it? Not when their ship itself is the sun made manifest, warm and stubborn and safe. 

She did good, waiting for them for so long, and Zoro absently pats the deck, feeling unaccountably fond. 

He suddenly feels sure that she was lonely, too. A home’s not much of a home without people in it.

He sits with his back against the rail, the grassy lawn soft and deck steady beneath him, and closes his eye, and breathes. 

In, and out.

Observation’s not really his strong suit, but he can do it, and these are the people he knows better than anyone, loves better than anyone. It’s almost easy, with his mind at peace and his heart at home for the first time in two years, to find them all.

Robin and Chopper are together in the library, reorganizing books and adding new ones they’ve collected to the shelves. Franky’s belowdecks at the stern, probably working some black magic on the engine to make it do more things a ship’s engine is never supposed to do. Nami and Usopp are in her tangerine grove, chatting while she prunes branches and clears away fallen fruit. Much like some of their crew, the trees have gone a little wild over two years they’ve been left untended.

It’s okay, though. This is something Zoro knows, as he sits and breathes and revels in the warmth of home; they’re here and they’re alive and they’re exactly where they’re meant to be, and everything else will find its place.

Brook is balanced at the bow, playing something on his violin; an old sailing song, one Zoro hasn’t heard before but one that curls around his bones and makes its place in his heart nonetheless. He never had much patience for music when he was younger, had always preferred the rhythmic smack of bamboo or the song of unsheathed steel, but, well. A lot has changed since then. _He’s_ changed, since then. 

The cook is in the galley, of course, already getting a head start on dinner, and so is-

Zoro grins.

The galley door bangs open and Luffy comes tumbling head-over-heels across the deck, laughing the whole way down, the cook shouting smoke and fury after him. He skids to a halt flat on his back right in front of Zoro, still laughing like he can’t stop, and Zoro finally blinks his eye open to smile down at him. 

“Hey, Captain.” 

Luffy snickers. “Hi, Zoro!” He sits up, and Zoro’s gaze catches for a moment on the scar on his chest, bubbled and burned. “What’re you doin’?” 

Zoro shrugs a little, tips his head back to look up at the blackness of the water above them, then back down. “Just thinking. It’s nice to have everybody back together again. I missed this.”

Sitting here, with grass beneath his palms and miles of ocean above his head and his crew safe and home and together for the first time in two years, he might be happier than he’s ever been. 

Luffy laughs, bright and clear and sunshine. “Yeah!” 


	2. law

“You’re smiling more,” Bepo says, hushed to keep from waking any of their crewmates currently on sleep shift. The Polar Tang hums beneath them, a warm, comforting sound that Law is still refamiliarizing himself with, not quite a day out from Zou. It sounds like home.

Law blinks over at him, caught a little off guard by the comment, frowning slightly. “What?”

“Well- I mean, not _now_ , but- ever since you got back. You’re smiling more. Laughing, too,” Bepo says, and smiles, sharp-toothed and genuine, eyes crinkling up. “It’s good.” 

Law frowns harder, like that’ll disprove Bepo’s clearly false assertion, but Bepo just laughs, and Law leans against his soft, warm side despite himself. Punk Hazard was cold, and desolate, and empty, and- 

(And Law doesn’t really like snow.)

“I was worried, you know,” Bepo says quietly after a moment, his arm tightening a little around Law’s shoulders. “I know you promised, and I _know_ you had a plan, but… I was worried you wouldn’t come back.” 

And that makes something well up in Law’s throat, something thick and guilty, because he’d almost _forgotten_ the offhand promise he’d made, what feels like years ago, in order to force his crew to leave, because otherwise they never would: _Of course I’m coming back._

A promise he’d never really intended to keep.

(He doesn’t deserve their loyalty, but he has it anyways, and it had felt like the least he could do not to drag them down with him.)

“I didn’t,” Law says, or hears himself say- it must be him talking, but his voice sounds so much smaller than usual. “I didn’t…. I wasn’t… planning on coming back. I lied.” And then, even smaller: “Sorry.”

This isn’t what he’s used to, speaking honestly, admitting fault, but Dressrosa tore him _open_ , ripped the scabs off all the old injuries that had never really healed and let all the ugly things he’s been holding onto see daylight for the first time in years. He’s all ripped up and bloody and aching inside, still, but he’s _alive_ , with the weight of Cora-san’s ghost finally lifted from his shoulders. It doesn’t feel right to lie, here and now, to this person he never thought he’d get to see again, in this conversation he never thought he’d get to have. 

Bepo makes an angry huffing noise. “You’re so _stupid_ ,” he mutters, and he sounds almost near tears. (Bepo cries a lot. Law hates to have it be his fault.) “How can you be so smart when you’re so _stupid?_ ” 

A heavy, soft paw cuffs Law across the head, and then before he can do anything- object, or apologize again, or just duck his head and say nothing at all- Bepo is hugging him. 

It’s nice. 

Bepo is big and soft and warm, and his hugs have always been the best, even back when Law was fourteen and angry at everything and always shoved him off whenever he tried, but they’ve never made him _cry_ before. He sniffles, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes to keep them from welling up. It would be embarrassing if there was anyone else around to see, but right now everyone else is asleep and the ship is humming gently all around them, and he’s _home_ , so it’s okay. 

“I’m really glad you came back,” Bepo mumbles into his hair. “Really, really glad.” 

“Yeah.” Law scrubs at his eyes, and can finally admit, “So am I.” 

He’s happy to be here. He’s happy to be home. He’s pretty sure he’s even happy to be _alive_ , even though he feels all hollowed out and uncertain and lost, now, with the anger that’s been driving him onward for years and years all at once gone, resolved, evaporated like morning mist. Doflamingo’s finished, left to live out his meagre days in the pits of Impel Down, his kingdom liberated and his shadow empire shattered. It’s over.

He never thought to plan for _after_. He doesn’t know what comes next. 

“You can thank Strawhat for that,” he adds after a moment. 

“I will!” Bepo says, nodding firmly, and it’s unexpected and sincere enough that Law chuckles, rusty and a little wet, almost catching himself by surprise when he does. Bepo’s right, he _has_ been laughing more, hasn’t he. He hadn’t noticed.

(He can probably thank Strawhat for _that_ , too.)

“Do you, um,” Bepo says after a moment, quieter, a little uncertain, “Do you really think he’ll be okay? Against Big Mom, I mean?” 

And if it were about anyone else, the answer would be a certain and immediate _no_ , but they’re talking about _Luffy_ , who has been defying every single expectation ever since the day Law met him, who’s thrown himself against impossible odds and come out alive again and again and again, and so he has to say, a little reluctantly, “He’ll be fine. He’ll make a huge mess, and there’s no way he’ll actually get in and out quietly, but… He’ll be fine.” 

Bepo nod. “Good. I’m gonna thank him, then, next time we see him. For bringing you home.” He’s quiet a moment longer, then, “Captain… do you think _we’ll_ be okay? Against Kaidou?” 

And Law is trying to be honest, here and now, so he says, “I don’t know.” 

He never thought he’d make it this far. Never expected to be alive to follow through on the deal he struck with Strawhat on Punk Hazard, what feels like ages ago now. Kaidou is said to be the strongest thing alive, an unkillable beast, so indestructible he tries to kill himself for fun. It’s an impossible task they’re facing, a suicide mission even more certain than the one he undertook in Dressrosa. 

But if there’s anyone who can manage it, it’s Strawhat Luffy, and the two of them together have changed the world already. 

And for some reason, stupid and illogical and inexplicable, Law really does believe they might just make it.

“But,” he says, “...yeah. I think we’ll be okay.” 

He’s home, and he has his crew again, and all the torn-up wounds inside his chest are finally healing right. 

Yeah. They’ll be okay. 


	3. sanji

The galley is a _mess_ of burned and blackened wood, everything sooty and smoke-stained, and for a moment Sanji just stands in the center of the wreckage and looks. Broken and burned and bruised, but it’s still here, and so is he, somehow. The air still tastes a little like smoke and burnt meat, but he breathes in deep nonetheless, holds it in his chest for a moment. 

Burned and broken and battered, but he’s _here_ , he’s _home_ , when he never thought he’d be again. 

And his crew is waiting for dinner, and that, at least, is something he can do.

It takes a moment of fiddling with the scorched knobs, but the oven sparks to life, pilot lights sparking up beneath the stovetop into neat rings of blue fire, reliable and warm. Whoever used the galley last- Nami, probably- was considerate enough to wash the dishes and put them away, waiting and ready for his return, but not in the same cupboards he usually stores them in, not stacked in the same order he always has them, so it takes a moment of searching to find what he needs, and the unfamiliarity rubs uncomfortably against his skin. 

He doesn’t blame her, of course. (He doesn’t blame her for anything.) He was gone, after all, and they filled the absence the best they could. He’s got nobody to blame but himself for things being a little different.

A pot for noodles, a pan for meat and another for vegetables. It’ll be stirfry, for dinner, something warm and familiar and filling. He owes them that. 

He owes them _so much more_ than that, really, but if he starts thinking about that for too long he might just cave in from the enormity of what they did for him, what they risked, what they lost, and he can’t handle that, not now, not when there’s a meal to be cooked. His hands can’t start shaking when he’s handling knives, dicing peppers and slicing meat, or what kind of a cook would he be then? 

There are still red rings around his wrists, slowly fading, raw where the bracelets had chafed, sharp edges rubbing into his skin. They’ll be gone, soon enough, and he’ll be glad when they are. He’ll be glad when this whole ugly affair can start to fade into unhappy memory. 

He’s sick of the past.

It feels like too much to hope for, that it’ll leave him be now after haunting him his whole life, but, well. He’s a Strawhat Pirate, and they’ve always been good at hoping for foolish things and making them true with sheer force of will. So he hopes he’ll get to spend all the rest of his days on this ship, with these people, and there in the kitchen with Luffy’s laughter bubbling in through the open door to the dining room, it feels for once like something he can actually have. 

The chicken is searing in one pan and the mushrooms in another, the noodles boiling in a pot, and he has a moment of respite, so for a minute he just stands and listens. Through the open door, he hears Brook crack another joke and Luffy laugh in response, bright and delighted, and Chopper giggles and Nami snorts and mutters something exasperated under her breath, and his heart _hurts_ , so painfully tender he can barely breathe around it. 

It sounds warm. It sounds like home. 

He’d been so, so scared he’d lose this. He’s so glad, now, that he didn’t. 

Home’s a precious thing, and he nearly let it slip through his fingers, like sand or dust or worthless gold. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to forgive himself for that, but he’ll try. 

The mushrooms are done, so he sets them aside and starts the bell peppers frying in their place, absently flips the pan to make sure they cook evenly. It’s so familiar he could do it in his sleep, worn into muscle memory by years of repetition. He learned most of this aboard the Baratie, standing on a stepstool, not yet tall enough to reach the stovetop unassisted, Zeff behind him, keeping a watchful eye on his work and muttering occasional corrections. 

He wonders what the old man would say, to see him here and now, battered and exhausted but _home_ , cooking dinner for his crew. He thinks he’d be happy. He hopes he’d be proud. 

“ _Sanji!_ ” Luffy howls from the dining room, and it’s so _familiar_ he doesn’t even startle at the sudden noise. “I’m _hungry!_ ” 

“ _Almost done, idiot!_ ” Sanji yells right back, stomping the floorboards for emphasis (but not too hard, the poor galley’s already taken enough of a beating lately). He’s unable to fight down the smile that rises up unbidden on his face, unwilling to really even try. “Wait five _fucking minutes!_ ” 

It feels almost wrong, how easy it is to fall back into the rhythm of life like he never left, how comfortable. It feels like there’s something more he should have to do, something he should have to say, in order to earn back the place he almost threw away. But that’s not how the Strawhats do things. That’s not how _Luffy_ does things. 

So he’ll make it up the only way he can; by cooking dinner, and never leaving again, and making his captain king. It’s the least he can do. 

The meal is almost ready, which is good, because the smell is filling up the air and Luffy might break down the door if it takes much longer, and the poor galley really has suffered enough lately. He’s going to have to clean the place up properly later, scrub the soot off of the stove and the cabinet-handles and make sure everything’s in working order.

For now, though, it’s time for dinner, and time for rest. He plates up the food, shoves the galley door open with a shoulder, and steps out into a cacophony of noise and light and warmth. 

It feels so good to be home. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from when the party's over by billie eilish, although i recommend [lewis capaldi's version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oeiCvEHe5Kg) for the Vibes.


End file.
